Daughter Of Darkness
by Feuilly
Summary: (AU, Vague OOC, and Torture) Jack thought the girl was just pulling his leg. But eight years pass, and the joke is getting a little long-winded, not to mention dangerous. Now the only way for him to save Jamie is to revisit his first adventure, something he's swore never to do again. But what choice does he have?
1. Prologue

I'm only going to do an authors not now and at the end, if we get there. Ha. Anyways, first story in a while, I'm not sure what I'll rate it at. Probably teen, but it depends... Opinions on that would be lovely. Also, on the story, and review is appreciated, constructive criticism even better. I want to improve, I want this to be enjoyable. I can only do that if you help me. I don't have a beta, and the idea is only half thought out. and with that. Enjoy.

Cheers,

Kate

* * *

Tristen didn't remember anything from before the orphanage, but she hadn't lived her entire life there, at least, that's what they told her. Like every other child with whom she shared her cramped dormitory with, she had always had a fierce desire to know who her parents were. Only her situation was different, she didn't have the neat forms with her name and medical records. She didn't have the quiet reassurance of the other girls, "You really are better off here sweetie". All she had was the confused and pitying glances of the sisters, and the hushed conversations that followed her.

It didn't take her long to understand why, she wasn't like the other girls, her face was too ashen, her her eyes too dull and reptile-like, her hair too limp. She wasn't pleasant.

That didn't stop her from having a shocking intelligence or being rather fierce, but it did stop her from having friends.

At first when she tried to find her parents, she had tried the traditional way. For two years she almost wasted away in the local library and archives, trying to find something, anything. After eighteen months, it was sheer desperation that kept her going, but eventually she turned to the whispers that lingered at the edges of her research. She turned to her dreams, or rather, the sandman.

But her hopes weren't high.

Her research had led her to a blog, written by a teenager eight years or so older than her named Jamie. The most popular post of his was detailing something that had happened to him when he was eleven, where he had helped Jack Frost, Santa, Tooth fairy, Sandman, and the Easter Bunny defeat Pitch Black. The details to what had happened to Pitch always seemed lacking, so she wasn't sure how credible it was. Still, she sent him an email, and it took a while (six months) to get a reply. He eventually let her know the exact dates of the things that had happened. After a quick reference to the orphanage records showed the nine year old that the date that she had been left on the front porch was the same.

It took a lot of convincing, but eventually she started to tell herself that the sandman could help her. Another two years went by before she gave up on that.

An eleven year old Tristen decided that she should try to ask Jack Frost to help her find her parents.

* * *

"Jack! Ja-ack!" The call was faint, but Jack heard it none the less. It wasn't often people believed in him, let alone called him. Deciding it wouldn't be a bad idea to check it out, he called the wind. Feeling the familiar chill tugging at him, he gripped his staff tighter and willed his way to the voice, flying in the night.

* * *

It was a girl. Not very old, and rather depressed-looking, keeping her head angled towards the ground.

"Can I help you?" The girl asked, the voice the same as the one calling him only moments ago.

Jack felt a smirk pull at his lips, "Shouldn't I be asking you that? You called _me_."

The girl looked up sharply, which showed how dull and watery her eyes looked, "Jack Frost?"

He felt his chest puff up a little at the awe in her voice, "The one and only."

There was a strange moment of silence between the two. Jack was waiting for the girl-in-black (as he decided to call her) to explain herself. She didn't say anything, just looked.

"Why did you call me?" he finally asked, exasperated.

"Jamie was right." The girl muttered.

Suddenly Jack was right next to her. "Jamie? Have you been talking to him?"

"Mhm. He said you might be able to help me find my father." The girl-in-black dared to turn and meet his eyes for a brief moment.

"I'm not sure I can help with that." He said slowly.

"Oh of course you can!" She cried, suddenly angry sounding, "You know where he is! You put him there!"

"I'm sorry - you must have the wrong guardian-"

"Of course I don't." The girl sighed, meeting his eyes again, "I'm Tristen, the daughter of Pitch."


	2. Chapter 1: The Threat

Every year for the last eight she had called him on this night, so Jack wasn't surprised at all when he heard the voice. Each year it had turned more taunting and dark. This year was the worst.

"Jack Frost, Jack Fost, help this little girl who's lost. Help her find her way back to the dark, help her soul find it's mark."

There was a moments of silence, then, "God dammit Jack! Show up already, I have something different from last year. I know you'll help me this time."

* * *

She felt a chill, and then his voice was in her ear. It might have been a sultry whisper if the humor wasn't there.

"Your poetry still sucks you know."

She turned her face towards his, close enough she felt his chilled breath on her nose, "Between you and me, I don't give a damn."

He floated above her, eying her for a few moments, taking in the changes. She was in almost all black, only this time her hat was red. Her hair was still black, strait and thin, only longer this year. Her skin was still too pale and gray, and her eyes had changed into a piercing black colour, different from the watery black eyes of the eleven-year-old he'd first met.

"You're wearing colour this year. Why the sudden change?" He finally teased.

"Shut up. Now, are you going to tell me where my father is?" She barked.

"You get mouthier each year." He commented, floating behind her.

She didn't turn, she knew he wouldn't leave until she decided the conversation was over, and this year, he had a surprise.

"This time, Jack, I have leverage. I finally got to meet Jamie. He's currently staying with me, you know. Still convinced I'm a decent girl." A snake-like grin appeared on her face, "How wrong do we know he is?"

She felt an icy grip on her thin shoulders, Jack's pale face inches from hers'.

"You hurt him and I'll-"

"Do what Jack? Freeze my heart? C'mon, we both know it never beat! I'm a walking dead! The child of Fear and Jealousy, nothing you can do will stop me... Unless, you tell me where he is."

There was a tense pause.

"We both know I can't do that. Just as we both know you won't do anything to Jamie. You're still a kid Tristen, don't hurt yourself."

"Ha! This coming from the perpetual child? Don't kid yourself Jack, I'm prepared to kill him to get my father out. I still have the skills of his nightmares, you know. Jamie will stay asleep for as I long as I want him to, and we both know his dreams will not be pleasant."

"You wouldn't."

She pulled a dark butterfly from her pocket, and held it in her palm. She stared at it for a moment, watching it turn in her fingers, over and over. She gave Jack a grin then blew it into his face.

* * *

_Blood, guns, shouts. Pain, too much pain. Searing his leg. He bites his arm to stop from screaming, but a strangled cry still escapes his throat. He turns his head to find help, but all he sees are dead eyes staring back at him, the eyes of the other officers, staring into nothing, never seeing again._

* * *

Jack awoke gasping on the ground, staff laying beside him. He felt warm fingers caress his face, trailing down, and tilting his chin up to face the dark form above him.

"Poor baby, nine months in Iraq and the child you knew is gone. I have all of his fears, I can keep him in those dreams as long as I'd like. You were in one for five minutes and look how well you lasted. After a month I don't think he'll have much of a soul left."

Jack was still catching his breath as he sat up, refusing to let the fear show in his eyes.

"It's not working," Tristen sighed, drawing him into her, "I can feel how afraid you are. The fears of his are different now, more real. You can't help him anymore."

Her nails were digging into his back now, turning the comfort into a farce, "Unless, of course, you help me."


End file.
